Oil and the Ocean
by glindalupin
Summary: [Sahara] Dirk can't help but see the differences between Al and the women he sleeps with. Rated M for sexual content and language. And DirkAl.


A/N Oh my FREAKING God, she's written something other than MacDanny or CSI:NY. The sky is FALLING. Lol yeeeah. But seriously, this is DirkAl from the movie Sahara, which is the 'verse I want it to be in. Because I... I, um, kinda like Steve Zahn's version of Al too much... Hehe..he... So here we go, it's M for sex and stuff, so you kiddies who liked the movie and shouldn't be reading this stuff, go away. Sorry, I just don't wanna corrupt young minds. So read, maybe review, and bask in the tiny bit of Dirk angst. (Ooh and if you blink, you might miss the itty bit of Al angst.)

* * *

Dirk Pitt always loved the smell of oil and the ocean. A smell that could be found on one person who was startlingly different from every other person he'd been with. 

First of all, Al Giordino was not a woman.

But after Dirk got past that mind-numbing fact, he found everything about Al to different and intoxicating. The first thing that came to mind was the different worlds they come from.

The women were always these pristine goddesses that kept everything _clean_ about themselves. Perfect hair, perfect make-up, perfect posture, perfect smiles. Perfect, perfect, _perfect._ It would get to the point at which Dirk would just hear the _word_ and get disgusted.

With Al, he never had that problem. Al wasn't perfect at all. His hair always looked as if a windstorm had come through and decided it was time-for-Al-to-look-like-a-porcupine-day. And then he'd grin that lopsided grin and attempt to stuff it under a hat that he'd lose a week later, claiming it to be his favorite hat. Dirk decided there was nothing _perfect_ about that, just absolute charm.

Charm that some of the women seemed to have, considering the fact they'd manage to weasel him into a conversation, usually about money or what he did for a living or, God forbid, what they did for a living. And he'd usually just listen politely and hope to God they'd shut up or that Al was there.

But Al was rarely there to bail him out; black tie events weren't his thing. Dirk respected him for that. Because Al was the only one he could talk to, _really_ talk to. About anything. Cars, memories, football, pet peeves, diving, NUMA, Sandecker's stupid cigars, _whatever_. And there were no strings attached to the conversation. Al wouldn't look at him like a lovesick kid and expect that the conversation would lead anywhere.

But the women would. They'd bat their eyelashes and flirt blatantly, _oh¸ _so blatantly. Dirk would be touched at least ten times before ever leaving the party with the pretty perpetrator. And why, well, he knew why. Women were just too damn easy not to pass up. Not that women were easy, he'd always joke. It's just they were an easy escape for him.

Al was anything but easy. He'd get flustered when Dirk would come in, hung over and rambling about the night before, expecting Al to be okay with it. Which he was, or at least Dirk thought he was. But those eyes of his, those expressive eyes, would always somehow convince Dirk that Al was hurting and needed him. And he'd have to get Al to laugh again, whether it be through tequila or a conversation about one of their incredibly stupid stunts as kids. And there would be that grin again and the eyes would be sparkling as if nothing had happened.

As if Dirk hadn't screwed around with another woman. Again. But they were so appealing, at first. They'd provide for wonderful foreplay, as expert kissers and willing to be pushed to any limit. And Dirk would disarm them with his smile because he knew it was powerful. And they'd giggle and give in to him, usually in a hotel room that he'd rent on the spur of the moment. He was rich, after all. They'd play hard to get and be coy about it, up until the clothes started flying. At that point, they'd become putty in his hands.

Dirk never told Al about his sexual encounters because there were some courtesies that had to be made. But that didn't stop Dirk from thinking about them every time he'd corner Al into a chaste kiss in their quarters, pulling Al close to ensure he wouldn't run away. He couldn't help but make comparisons as Al would moan softly about locking the door and think that no woman could ever be like this.

Women would rake their fingernails along Dirk's body, thinking he was into the pain shit, but all it did was make him try to hide the marks from Al the next day. The only pain he ever liked was the pain of combat with Al, fighting for dominance when they kissed. Al may be smaller, but he was strong and could shove him against the wall and force Dirk to submit to him if only for a second. And that second would work Dirk into a frenzy that would send both spiraling down to the bed with Dirk on top.

Dirk was always on top with women; they always were submissive to him. And they were loud, too. They would moan loudly and whisper dirty things in Dirk's ear. He'd never been much for that kind of thing, but he tolerated it as the pressure would build up. He'd listen to their ramblings just as long as he was trying to get it out of his system.

But Dirk never had to hear that from Al. All Al would do was softly groan whenever something happened. They'd still be kissing as clothes were torn roughly off and their legs would intertwine. Al's eyes would widen when he felt Dirk's erection against his, but he wouldn't be vocal about it. All he would do was thrust gently against Dirk and kiss him harder. He'd stifle his pain when Dirk thrust into him and clutch at Dirk's back for a moment and then lay still for Dirk's next move.

That was one thing Dirk noticed that was similar. Once he was inside, both the women and Al were completely his to control. But only then. The women would gasp and once they neared their climax, they would scream shrilly in Dirk's ear, making him wince but continue his own business until he'd reach that peak at which he could forget that what he was doing was hurting the only person that ever mattered. Which is why he would get up after catching his breath and mutter that he had to leave. They'd whine and protest, but when he told them to keep the room for however long and order whatever they wanted from it, they usually shut up.

But even though he would leave before anything else built up, Dirk would still feel guilty when he was with Al. Al would be so open to him, his eyes half-lidded but entirely focused upon Dirk. He'd keep Dirk close to him and insist he was alright even though Dirk was pretty sure the last thrust was going to leave a few bruises. Add that guilt on, and Dirk felt like one shitty friend. So he'd ensure that this was as good for Al as he could make it. Al would still be silent when Dirk would grab hold of his erection and begin to massage it in time with the thrusts he would make against his prostrate. And before either of them knew it, the intense pressure was in their abdomens and beg for release, but Dirk would slow them down before it would happen.

With women, he was always fast and forceful, wanting to get it over with as quick as possible, and that was one thing that they never seemed to mind. They seemed to want to get off as quick as possible and be able to claim they'd fucked Dirk Pitt. He didn't care about the rumor mill that spread, just as long as it didn't spread to Al's ears.

Al, who he'd do everything possible to let him know he was different from them, more important. Dirk would time everything to make them release together and be one person together. He'd feel Al's hands lost in his hair, kissing him senseless and almost to a point that he forgot he was still breathing. And then he'd come up for air and lick at Al's neck, which always tasted of salt from the ocean. That would be enough for Al to gasp quietly and buck into Dirk's hand, so Dirk would grin mercilessly and pick up speed once again, steeling himself against hurting Al.

And once again, before they knew it, they were racing towards that orgasm, that final peak of togetherness. Al's hands would tighten around the sheets or headboard or Dirk, whichever was available to him at the time, and Dirk's teeth would clamp down on that piece of skin, hard enough to keep him from screaming but not enough to leave a mark that Al may have to explain to Sandecker later. And then, it would hit. Al's eyes would snap open wide, and he'd arch his back in the slightest. But he never made a sound, even when Dirk would come inside his body.

Then they'd lie there for what would seem like an eternity, sticky and sweaty and panting. The funk would wear off when Al would make a typical Al remark, something cynical or inane that would leave Dirk in stitches and clutching for Al. And he wouldn't want to let go, not for all the pretty distractions in the world.

Because even though they were pretty distractions, that's all they were, and Dirk didn't like that he was so easily distracted from something as wonderful as _this. _As lying in bed with Al, feeling the rocking of the Martha Anne, and just _talking._ Dirk would sigh and kiss Al's forehead, absently taking in the scent of Al that he loved so much.

Oil and the ocean, that's all that Dirk could ever remember when he fell asleep. Oil and the ocean…

* * *

A/N So how'd I do for my first fic published that didn't have anything to do with CSI:NY? And if any of my MacDanny fans are here, I promise I'm still doing Dog Tags. But I am also promising to do more DirkAl hehehehheehhehehe. Ok I'm shutting up because I am _hyper_ lol! Thanks for reading! 


End file.
